


Dúath a Calad

by fandelwa



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Father-Son Relationship, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-16 09:36:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5823589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandelwa/pseuds/fandelwa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A shadow falls upon Greenwood the Great and upon the heart of its king.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Nightfall

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to satiate my craving for Legolas & Thranduil fics. I want to know every detail of their relationship. 
> 
> This fic is a mixture of book and film canon, but please note that my Thranduil is very much based on Lee Pace's portrayal. 
> 
> I've played around with the timeline a little, mainly in that Tauriel is alive when according to the films' timeline she would not have been born. I love Tauriel and I love Legolas but I don't ship them. Their relationship here will be strictly platonic. 
> 
> This fic will be updated every Tuesday. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Middle-earth belongs to Professor Tolkien. I'm simply exploring it.

Fading sunlight caught on the edges of the leaves, lining them with gold. Eril watched the shadows dance on the mossy ground as the wind made the branches sway. She smiled. She crouched beside an ancient tree, its bark rough and gnarled beneath her fingers. It whispered its secrets in creaks and rustles.

“Where is _Nana_?” she heard Legolas ask. Eril braved a glance around the trunk. Her son walked beside her husband, looking up at him. They walked through a bright glade, surrounded by dark and looming trees.

“I do not know,” Thranduil said with mock gravity. “We must find her, but I fear it will not be easy. Your mother is a skilled warrior and her footsteps are light as the breeze.” Eril bit her lip to stifle her laughter.

“I want to be a warrior, too,” Legolas said, “like _Nana_ and like you.”

“Do you?” Thranduil said with a tilt of his head, and he crouched beside Legolas. His tone was gentle. “You would make a mighty warrior, of that I have no doubt. Yet I would fear for you. You are more precious to me than anything in Middle-earth.”

A sudden, fierce wind swept through the clearing, rustling the leaves and tossing Eril’s hair. Legolas froze.

“I hear her,” he whispered loudly to Thranduil. “She is behind that big tree.”

Laughing, Eril abandoned her hiding place and strode into the clearing. “I am discovered,” she said, “but not caught, and I will not surrender, not even to the two mightiest warriors in Greenwood the Great!”

Joy lit Thranduil’s face and he leaned down to whisper something in Legolas’ ear. Legolas nodded and ran on light feet out of the clearing, disappearing into the trees. Thranduil walked towards Eril, who backed away.

“You will not catch me,” she warned. “I am swifter than you.”

“I know,” he said. They had reached the edge of the glade. “That is why I have resorted to ambush.”

“I have you, _Nana_!” Legolas cried from somewhere in the branches of the ancient tree. He landed with a light thump on the ground behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Thranduil caught her wrists with large and gentle hands and leaned down to touch his forehead to her own.

“You are caught,” he said with laughter in his voice. “Now do you surrender?”

“Never,” she said, smiling up at him.

 

* * *

 

Twilight turned the land cold and grey. The grip of Eril’s bow was cool and smooth in her palm. Legolas walked with silent steps beside her, his hair like starlight in the gloom.

The sharp crack of a twig turned her head. A thrill went through her. She gestured to Legolas to follow, and ran between the trees, whose interweaving branches cast a shadow like a net upon the ground. They had been tracking the deer for hours. Legolas, despite his youth, showed a gift for hunting. His senses were keen, his mind quick.

The land sloped downwards and ended in a stream, where the deer stood, lapping at the water. She felt Legolas’ hand on her shoulder and met his eyes. There was a furrow between his brows.

“It is injured,” he said in a voice below a murmur. Eril looked again at the deer and saw its side and neck were burned: raw pink flesh running like veins through charred fur. Legolas returned his arrow to his quiver.

“I cannot bear to kill it,” he said, half to himself. The deer’s ears were pricked.

“It will not live much longer,” Eril said. “Injured as it is, a wild beast will kill it, or another hunter.”

“Can we not heal it?”

Eril felt laughter rise within her. “Legolas, we are hunting this creature, and you wish now not to kill it but to heal it?”

The deer stared in their direction, its body tense. Legolas stared at Eril, his expression imploring.

She laughed. “I am as helpless against those eyes as your father is! Very well, if it does not flee, we shall try to heal it.”   

Legolas placed his bow on the leaf-strewn ground and drew a skein of Elvish rope from his tunic. He leapt over the stream and landed silent as a shadow on the other side. The deer quivered and stared at Legolas but did not flee.

Eril heard her son’s soft, coaxing words: “ _Mê le 'ovannen._ _Len iallon, an gell nîn, tolo annin. Davo annin gi nestad._ ”

The deer’s trembling ceased. To Eril’s surprise, it allowed Legolas to loop the Elvish rope around its neck.

“ _Tolo. Tolo a nin_ ,” Legolas said, and the deer came.

“I am impressed,” Eril said, when Legolas and the deer reached her side. The deer flared its nostrils and stared at her with wary eyes.

“I do not think this is an ordinary deer, _Nana_ ,” Legolas said. “I would swear he understood my words, and in the darkness he almost seems to glow.”

Eril turned her gaze upon the deer again and gasped. “You speak true, Legolas. Indeed, this is no deer at all but an Elven Elk. It has been many decades since I have laid eyes upon one. It is as well we did not kill it. Elven Elk are rare and magnificent creatures and your father cares much for them. We should take this little one to him. He will know best how to heal it.”

“He does not seem so magnificent now,” said Legolas with a laugh. "He is but a calf." The Elven Elk snuffled, and nosed Legolas’ hand.

 

* * *

 

Thick night cloaked Amon Lanc and fog obscured the stars. Eril and her party crept towards the fortress, which formed a dark and jagged silhouette against the sky. Whispers of an evil power dwelling on the hill had spread to Thranduil’s kingdom.

“We are here to reconnoitre and we have not the numbers to attack,” she told her warriors. “Our strength is in stealth. Surround the hill. Caenir and I go to the fortress. Follow only if we give the signal.” She took a breath. “If we have not returned in an hour, retreat. Inform the king so he may gather an army.”

Eril and Caenir ran up the hill towards the fortress. There was no door. They entered through a yawning gap like a mouth in the stone wall. Inside was darkness and silence.

“Go left,” Eril ordered Caenir. The thick stone muffled her words. “Return here when you have seen all of that side of the fortress. Leave immediately, should you sense danger. Do not delay.”

“Yes, Captain,” he said. His voice was calm but she could sense his fear. She grasped his arm before walking down the corridor to her right. After a few steps she could see nothing. She reached out and touched the cold wall with her fingertips, following the curve of it. The stone was coated in something viscous. She shuddered. She sensed a movement beside her and froze.

“Welcome, Eril, Captain of the Guard,” said a voice of molten gold. “Welcome, Thranduil’s Queen.” The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere: an echo without a source. Eril trembled but lifted her chin.

“Who speaks?” she asked.

“Your son has grown so tall and fair,” said the voice. “How you and Thranduil must love him.” Fear clenched Eril’s heart and overwhelmed her.

“Legolas, Prince of the Greenwood, jewel of his parents’ hearts,” the voice murmured, with a sibilant caress for each sound that it spoke.

The corridor grew lighter, the darkness parting to reveal a misty clearing. The sound of merry laughter reached her ears.

 _Come, Harthad! You are being difficult_ , said Legolas. His words entered Eril’s mind although the corridor was silent. She could see her son, his form blurred by the mist. The Elven Elk headbutted him with his half-grown antlers.

The darkness, stifling, fell again. Eril shook.

“You will not harm him,” she said, low and fierce.

“Of course, you wish him to be safe. I will offer you a choice: his life or yours. Are you willing to die to save him?”

Eril closed her eyes. “Do you swear that he will not be harmed?”

“I swear that I will not harm him.”

“Then I will give my life for his.”

The darkness began to take shape to her left. Eril did not turn her head lest she reveal that she had noticed. Her hand went to her sword beneath her cloak. She stood unmoving until she heard a heavy tread upon the ground. With swift precision, she drew her sword and spun, bringing the curved white blade around in an arc. She heard a hiss of pain.

“Foolish,” said the voice, now emanating from the figure, which stepped towards her. She could make out no features, merely a darker shape in the dark corridor. She tensed, every sense alert.

She felt a sudden pressure in her abdomen. She looked down. Her tunic was slit. A stain, grey in the dimness, was spreading. A sudden throbbing pain stole her breath and her knees buckled.

The black form disintegrated and a low, mocking laugh rang in her ears.

 _I must warn Thranduil,_ she thought. _We must warn our people._ She opened her mouth to cry out but she could make no sound louder than a whisper. She felt her _fae_ begin to depart her _rhaw_. She closed her eyes and imagined Thranduil’s face: his silvery hair, his sparkling eyes.

“Do not let any harm come to Legolas,” she whispered to Thranduil's image, pleading. “Now you must love him for both of us. You must love him with all the warmth in your heart.” The throbbing became a fierce burning and no longer could she remain upright. She fell forward till her face was pressed against the black dirt. She inhaled and coughed and the burning grew unbearable. She longed for the feel of soft grass, of cool water beneath her fingertips, of her son’s warm hand in hers.  

 _I do not want to die_ , she thought. _I have so much to live for._ Her sob became a choke and the world faded into shadow.


	2. Part I: Chapter One

**PART I: Darkness Falls Upon Greenwood the Great**

 

> "Over the land there lies a long shadow, westward reaching wings of darkness." **  
> **
> 
> _-_ Malbeth's Prophecy,  _The Return of the King_

 

**Chapter One**

Legolas swung himself onto the branch of a tall tree and crouched there, looking through the leaves. He sensed something strange and discordant in the woods surrounding him, although the day was warm and bright. A trace of a scent lingered in the air: rancid with a syrupy edge. He tilted his head, puzzled.

A sudden soft buzzing filled his ears. Spots of white light, growing larger, danced before his eyes. He blinked and the light expanded, bright as Eärendil’s star. At first he could see nothing but glistering whiteness, then shapes took form within it. He recognised his father’s figure, proud and upright, although his face was indistinct. The second shape was a Man or Elf and Legolas heard a voice speaking, muffled as if far away. He could make out no words.

The figure drew a long, curved sword.

“Father!” Legolas cried in warning, but Thranduil stood unmoving. The figure slashed at Thranduil, blade glinting. Thranduil stepped back out of reach. The figure advanced and in a single smooth motion stabbed the sword through Thranduil’s chest.

Terror parted Legolas’ lips in a silent cry.

The white light dissipated like fog under sunshine and the woods were visible again. Legolas lost his footing and fell. He threw out a hand and grabbed the branch, rough bark scraping his palm. He dangled for a moment before lowering himself lightly to the ground.

He retched and it shocked him; for a moment his body was beyond his control. Dread tightened his chest and his breaths were shallow.

 _Father_ , he thought. _I must make sure he_ -

A light tread upon the ground turned his head.

“My Lord Legolas?” The speaker was a young Elf with fiery hair. “I have been sent to find you and relay a message from the king. He summons you. You are to go to the throne room at once.”

“Thank you,” Legolas replied. He felt disoriented. Panic lingered beneath his skin. “Do you go there also?”

“I do, My Lord.”

“Then let us go together. What is your name?”

The Elf glanced at him, sidelong and surprised. “Tauriel, My Lord,” she said after a pause.

“ _Mê le 'ovannen_ , Tauriel,” Legolas said, the slightest tremble in his voice.

 

* * *

 

 

Thranduil lounged on his throne in the immense pillared hall and surveyed the assembled warriors with cold eyes. He seemed unreachable, but Legolas felt a rush of relief. _He is safe_ , he thought. _Thank the Valar_.

Thranduil rose with unearthly grace.  

"I have heard tell that the dark power of Dol Guldur on Amon Lanc spreads north and west,” he said. “Six days past I sent two scouts to Emyn-nu-Fuin to determine the truth of this. They were to return three days ago but there is yet no sign of them.”

Legolas frowned and thought of the strange discordance he had felt in the woods.

“I have determined to send a small party of warriors to find them,” Thranduil continued. “Six will go, under the leadership of Captain Caenir. Who volunteers?”

Legolas stepped forward. “My Lord, I will go. I know well the land around the Enchanted River.”

With a sudden, snakelike tilt of his head, Thranduil fixed his gaze upon Legolas. Legolas shuddered under the intensity of his father’s eyes and tried to make his face calm and blank.

“No,” Thranduil said, his voice icy. “You will not go. I forbid it. Who else volunteers?”

Legolas flinched, embarrassment and hurt churning inside him. To his left he heard another warrior speak but paid her no heed. He longed to prove himself to his father, to see those eyes look at him not with coldness but with pride. Yet how could he hope to do so when Thranduil did not trust him enough to give him the chance?  

 _He knows you are at fault for Nana’s death_ , whispered a voice in the back of his mind, _and he will never forgive you, never trust you._ Legolas clasped his hands behind his back to hide their trembling. Fragments of memory, irrepressible, came to him: Caenir striding into his father’s chambers, his eyes haunted, Eril’s curved white sword dangling from his hand. The confusion in Thranduil’s eyes in the moment before he grasped the truth.  

“I heard her call your name, Legolas,” Caenir had said. “I heard her say she would give her life if it meant you would live.”

Thranduil’s voice cut through the haze of memories, bringing Legolas back to the present with a jolt.

“You will leave on the morrow. Captain Caenir, report to me ere you depart,” he was saying.

“Yes, My Lord Thranduil,” said Caenir.

The warriors began to leave. Legolas walked towards the door, glancing over his shoulder at his father. Thranduil stood upon the dais, a proud tilt to his chin, the barbs of his crown etched in golden light.  

 

* * *

 

 

Outside the throne room Legolas saw Tauriel and inclined his head to her. She approached him, her long hair swinging as she walked.

“My Lord Legolas,” she said, “I know it is not my place to speak thus, but your father should not have dismissed you as he did. I have seen you train with the other warriors. You are a skilled and fearless fighter.”

Legolas stared at her. “You deprecate my father and your king,” he said.

Tauriel winced. “I apologise. I should have kept my silence.”

“No, do not apologise. You have every right to voice your opinion. I was merely surprised that you dared.”

Tauriel smiled at him, the corners of her eyes crinkling. Her sincerity was startling.

“I intended to spend the afternoon following the Enchanted River,” she said. “I sense a fell stillness in the air. I am too young to join the patrol, but my curiosity overwhelms me. Would you join me?”  

Legolas hesitated. Thranduil would be livid if he heard, but perhaps here was a chance to prove his worth after all.

“Yes,” he said at last. “I will join you.”

Together they left Thranduil’s caverns and crossed the Forest River, which rippled and glinted in the sunlight. When they reached the joining of the Forest River and the Enchanted River they turned south. Five miles down the bank Legolas stopped. Impressed in the damp dirt were large holes, arranged in groups of three, spaced far apart.

“Tauriel, look! I have never seen such tracks.”

Tauriel paused beside him and together they stared at the strange marks.

“Nor have I,” she said, a hint of fear in her voice.


	3. Part I: Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

Legolas and Tauriel walked down the twisting tunnel towards Thranduil’s chambers. The halls were deserted and in the silence they could hear the sound of burbling water. They rounded a corner and came upon the underground stream, smooth and dark in the dim light.  

“It is best if I bid you farewell here,” Legolas told Tauriel. “My lord father will not be pleased with me, but I must tell him what we have seen.” _But perhaps he will be pleased_ , a part of him whispered, hopeful and sly. _Perhaps he will be proud._

“I will stay if you wish,” Tauriel said. “You need not face your father’s wrath alone.”

Legolas smiled at her. “I would not ask that of you. I will seek you afterwards and tell you all.”

She returned his smile and thanked him, and they parted. 

Alone, Legolas followed the stream until he reached a staircase, hewn out of white rock, at the top of which were Thranduil’s rooms. Legolas drew a breath and knocked upon the carven door. There was no answer. He knocked again, and again there was no response. He turned on his heel with a frown, and smacked into something tall and immovable.

 _Father_. The silver brocade of Thranduil’s robe scratched Legolas’ cheek. For a moment, Legolas did not react and then, too quickly, he stepped back. His cheeks and ears were hot. He could not meet Thranduil’s eyes.

“Forgive me, Fath-My Lord,” he said. He felt oafish and thick-tongued. Thranduil said nothing. Legolas raised his eyes in increments until he met Thranduil’s gaze. In it was a glimmer of amusement, which dissipated under Legolas’ stare to be replaced by cool detachment.

“What brings you hither?” Thranduil asked.

“A need both to confess and to report to you,” Legolas replied, affecting composure.

“Oh?”

“Yesterday I left the halls and followed the Enchanted River south for several miles,” Legolas said.

Thranduil’s pale gaze grew cold and hard as _mithril_.

“You _what_?” he hissed.

“I must tell you what I saw,” Legolas said, fighting to keep his voice steady. He told Thranduil of the strange tracks and how he had followed them, to no avail. He did not mention Tauriel. He would not cause her trouble. 

Thranduil turned away from Legolas abruptly, staring down the corridor which ran past his chambers. His back was rigid. His struggle to contain his fury was palpable. Legolas swallowed. 

At last, Thranduil spoke, turning to look at Legolas with glacial, burning eyes. “You will not leave these halls again without my permission.”

Legolas stared at him, horrified. “My Lord, I must. It is my duty as a warrior and a prince to patrol these lands—”

In a fluid motion, Thranduil moved until his face was inches from Legolas’ own. “ _You will not leave these halls_ ,” he said. In his eyes lurked something almost deranged, which Legolas had not seen before. It sent a chill down his spine.  

“My Lords?” said a voice to their left. The manic edge left Thranduil’s manner and he stepped back, away from Legolas, his eyes opaque. The speaker was an Elf Legolas recognised from archery training.

Legolas inclined his head to him. “Pellam,” he greeted.

Pellam returned the nod. Legolas knew him as cheerful and quick to laugh, but now he looked wan and grim. 

Pellam turned to Thranduil. “My Lord,” he said. “I have been sent to inform you that an Elf has been killed within our borders. His body was discovered several miles east of the halls.”

Thranduil stiffened. “A Greenwood Elf?” he asked. Legolas recalled the cloying, fetid scent he had smelled the day before. He had been several miles east of the halls, he realised with a jolt of shock. Had the vision not distracted him, perhaps he would have found the body himself. A shiver of fear went through him. 

“I cannot say, My Lord. His body is …” Pellam’s voice trembled. “His body is unrecognisable. Decay has set in and the bones of his face are badly broken. There is a strange swelling in his limbs. I know not wherefore, although I retraced his footsteps. I could discern only that he was trying to escape pursuit. There were strange tracks around the body: deep circular indentations.”

Legolas looked up. “Were they grouped in threes?"

“Yes, My Lord,” Pellam said.

Thranduil stepped in front of Legolas. “Saddle Harthad,” he ordered Pellam. “I will leave at once.”

Pellam bowed and left. His footsteps, fading, echoed softly in the corridor behind him.

Thranduil turned to Legolas. “You will remain here,” he said in a voice as hard as diamonds. 

**Author's Note:**

> For more Tolkien and Thranduil fangirling, you can follow me on Tumblr: fandelwa.tumblr.com 
> 
> Sindarin translations:
> 
> Mê le 'ovannen. Len iallon, an gell nîn, tolo annin. Davo annin gi nestad. (Well met. I beg of you, for my joy, come to me. Let me heal you.)
> 
> Tolo. Tolo a nin. (Come. Come with me.)


End file.
